—I CAN BE CHILDISH SOMETIMES, SO TAKE ME DOWN EASY

                                               Playground

I am nine, alone on the playground, when I fall in love with the hologram. I know its love, true love, because the hologram says so. The hologram says, Here, suck on my tongue, it tastes like cinnamon tea mixed with magic. The hologram shows me things that not even adults have seen. Some of the scenes are gruesome but most are lovely and less threatening. I spend all of my time at the playground waiting for the other kids to vamoose b/c that’s the only time the hologram shows up, when it’s just me. The hologram has a tongue-twister name I can’t pronounce, something harsh and German-sounding. In the meantime, we’re going to run away when I’m older. The hologram has a map, a gassed-up car somewhere and tickets to a sold-out show. The only thing I’m confused about is why it picked me. 

—PEOPLE HAVE TO SHARE THINGS. THAT’S WHAT INTIMACY IS

…That’s one of my best friend’s, Jack in the top photo.  I’m so glad he’s in my life.

…The other is Dane, my favorite nephew.  There’s no kid like him on earth, and he makes me so happy.

…This weekend I participated in the Bending Genres online workshop.  It was my 16^th one.  I highly recommend them if you’re looking for inspiration or help with the craft of writing.

   One my stories was the first featured piece on Day 2.  That was a nice surprise, and very flattering.

   In January, I’ll be teaching the course for my first time.  I’ll post a link as we get closer, but here’s the general description:

Life is wonderful, but sometimes it’s not.  Sometimes life damages us, and quite often that harm comes from people we know, and maybe even love.  It can be a parent, sibling, teacher, friend, lover, or a random stranger in a coffee shop.  With words or actions, others can unsettle our lives and leave us wounded.  In this class, we’re going to delve into the times we’ve been hurt as well as those experiences that still haunt us, and we’re going to use that as fodder to create some kickass writing.  I can’t wait to partner with you to generate work with emotional depth that will both pierce and fill your reader’s heart.

   Anyway, Saturday night I woke up at 3:30 and wrote six pieces.  Here’s one:

Self-Portrait With Some Answers To Your Questions

I have a blue balloon stuck in my throat that you can’t see. It makes me wheeze when I sleepwalk or blink too much. My forehead is a billboard on trial for true crimes committed across state lines, and this mouth is a faulty Jack in the Box, my tongue a deflated raft. If my chin was one inch longer, I could cliff dive Possum Kingdom. Yesterday I shaved my head and planted alfalfa there, plus a chest of love letters for good luck. If you look closely you’ll see that one earlobe knows much more than the other, yet both my eyes are evenly conflicted. Yes, I’ve heard all about lunacy, but look at my neck. Isn’t it pretty? Be sure to remember it that way, while still you can.

—BUT WHERE ARE THE CLOWNS?

                                                  Baby

Kiss me with all of those bitter clouds stuck in your mouth.  Douse my rags with kerosene and flick a smitten match.  You can give me your misspelled tattoos and I’ll stitch every tainted consonant on my skin.  Yeah, I’ll be your tramp-stamp doll, the DUI you can’t take back, that shattered glass glittering red in the road.  Go ahead, please.  Stuff every jawbreaker of regret straight down my throat.  I’ll even take your uncle’s awful hands and shove them in my underwear instead of yours.  Baby, baby, baby.  Can’t you see I love you?  Turn those ears this way, tip your head and hear me screaming.